


Simper

by yeaka



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 05:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Cloud’s a terrible barista.





	Simper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pt_tucker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pt_tucker/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

As soon as he’s dismissed, he hurries out from the kitchen tucked in the back, all but gluing himself to Zack’s side. Zack glances curiously up at him as Cloud sidles over, not _quite_ touching but conspicuously close. As Zack’s bent over the sandwich display, Cloud leans forward and pretends to help. That way, he can keep his head down as Angeal leaves. He can hear the heavy footsteps and sense Zack looking around, even calling goodbye and probably waving. Zack gets along with their manager _way_ too easily.

But Zack gets along with everyone, and that’s part of why Cloud’s so adamant that he doesn’t want to leave. He’s never met anyone like Zack. He’s sure the next dead end job won’t have anything close. 

When the bell above the doorway’s wrung, signaling Angeal’s exit, Zack elbows him in the side and asks, “Hey, what happened?” Cloud doesn’t have to look to know Zack’s grinning. He’s too good-natured about _everything_ , but maybe that’s why Cloud feels safe confiding in him.

Cloud admits, exactly as darkly as he feels, “I got another talking to.”

“About the attitude problem?”

Cloud shoots Zack a little _look_ , because he doesn’t think he _has_ an attitude problem, but apparently, his coworkers disagree. Zack just chuckles and tells him, “Hey, Angeal’s a nice guy, okay? He just wants you to smile a bit more. You’ll make more tips for all of us.” Cloud’s perfectly aware that he doesn’t make of them _any_ tips. But it’s not his fault customers have unrealistic expectations. 

Only because it’s _Zack_ , Cloud mumbles, “I know,” and even, “I’ll try.” But he looks away a heartbeat later, because he can feel his cheeks heating. Zack pats his back. It’s _almost_ enough to dissipate the tension Angeal left, but not quite.

The bell rings, and Cloud straightens up, but Zack rescues him, like usual. Stepping up to the till, Zack’s already got a caramel macchiato punched in before the customer even reaches the counter. The man—about their age with a curtain of copper hair—pulls a black wallet out of a red leather jacket, purring as he does so, “How’s your day been, puppy?”

To Cloud’s disgust, Zack answers the nickname with a small laugh, countering, “Better, now that you’re in it. You just missed Angeal, though.”

“That’s okay—your handsome mug makes up for it.”

Zack grins, all teeth, as he’s handed a credit card. Cloud shuffles over to start making the drink before Zack’s even passed him a labeled cup, and he doesn’t stop to ask for the name. He thinks the redhead’s a regular, but he doesn’t care enough to know. Even though he _knows_ Angeal doesn’t want him to act up as much as Zack, it’s still irksome to think that _that’s_ the ideal. He tunes out the rest of the flirting while he makes the drink, deliberately forgoing the fancy foam art he’s been having Zack teach him. He has it up on the counter as soon as he can—thus banishing Mr. Macchiato from both his and Zack’s life. Zack still gets a wink after the redhead’s first sip. 

As soon as carrot-top’s found a table, safely out of earshot, Cloud mutters, “He can’t expect me to be like _that_.”

Zack snorts. “Hell, if you mean Angeal, I don’t think he even wants _me_ acting like that, but he can’t blame me if his own friends are coming in here quoting love poems to me.”

“He quoted a love poem to you?” Cloud can’t help the disgust that creeps into his voice over the thought alone.

“Yeah. Why, you jealous?” Zack smirks like it’s a joke, but Cloud winds up spluttering, until Zack laughs, “Relax, just kidding. Genesis probably wouldn’t even look twice at me if it weren’t for Angeal. I’m still all yours.” And he winks, which only makes Cloud’s cheeks heat worse. He makes a sudden move for the sink, hoping to wash some glasses just as an excuse to not be around Zack’s infectious perfection, but Zack grabs his wrist on the way and maneuvers him in front of the till, commanding, “Here, you get the next one. All you gotta do is _smile_ , and your best buddy Zack’ll give you all kinds of glowing recommendations, okay?”

Cloud’s mouth is too dry to say, _okay._

It’s a good two minutes before the bell rings again, which only signals a group of elderly women who’d been sitting quietly in the corner all afternoon finally leaving. But a few seconds later someone does come in—as the counter’s parallel with the door and there’s no one else in line, Cloud gets an instant, full frontal view of his next patron: a tall, strong, _gorgeous_ Adonis of a man strolling right up to him in the kinkiest black leather outfit he’s ever seen. Long, silver hair streams down broad shoulders, accentuating a chiseled face and piercing blue-green eyes that have Cloud’s heart stopping in his chest.

The man saunters up to the counter. He orders in a calming, deep voice that lilts like the ocean: “Coffee.” His thin lips might be in a smile, maybe even a smirk, or might be frowning—it’s too close to tell.

Cloud just sort of _stares_. It takes him a second to realize what’s given him the mental block, and then he clarifies, “Uh... small? Medium... large?”

“Medium,” the man tells him.

Cloud’s still stuck. “Um... dark roast... or...”

“Whatever you think is best.”

Normally, those are the worst kind of customers, and Cloud really doesn’t care for having to guess a stranger’s taste. In this instance, it’s even worse, because he feels strangely paralyzed already. He punches in... something.

The man seems to have no trouble with what ever number pops up. He fishes out a crisp five-dollar bill and hands it to Cloud, who stuffs it into the register without counting out change. Then something hard bashes into his foot, and he jerks sideways, to where Zack is clearly trying desperately to communicate with him via eye contact alone. 

Strangely enough, Cloud understands, and he turns back to give the silver-haired vixen the smile that Zack tries to be beaming directly into his brain. Only he’s sure it’s come out like more of a glower or grimace, because the overtly attractive customer lifts one brow in puzzlement. 

After another few seconds of awkward silence, he seems to give up on Cloud, and turns away from the counter, instead strolling over to where carrot-top’s got his feet up on a table.

Cloud lets out a long breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. It belatedly occurs to him that he didn’t get the customer’s name, so he’ll just have to call out the drink. Or make Zack call it out. Because Cloud desperately wants to go hide in the back.

Zack makes a noise. Cloud looks over to find him holding a hand over his mouth, clearly bursting at the seams to laugh his ass off at Cloud, and all Cloud can do is hiss, “Shut up!” 

Zack just shakes his head and pushes Cloud towards the sink, clearly agreeing he needs to be relieved of till duty. Cloud begrudgingly goes, hoping to hell Mr. Plain Coffee Vixen doesn’t know Angeal as well as Mr. Gross Redhead apparently does, and that his loyal ‘best buddy Zack’ won’t rat him out either.

He practices smiling via his reflection in the spoons he scrubs, until Zack catches him, whooping with laughter.


End file.
